Just More Blood to Clean Up
by Camel Enchilada
Summary: Tommy Vercetti finally collapses under the pressure of lurking enemies and cocaine abuse. As his life fades away in front of him,  he realizes he's lost more than the war...he's lost himself.


Been about a year since my last story so most of you have probably forgotten about me by now. Oh well...I'll post this anyway. I sort of wrote this in an experimental style...especially the end...if it doesn't work real well, let me know and I'll scrap it. Not the best I can do, it's a bit rushed. If this is well received, I have plenty more ideas for GTA stories...so just leave your comments and let me know. Thanks. :)

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I was just about to do it. I held it in my sweaty hands…the gun that I had just shot my own flesh and blood with. I held the evil contraption to my own head wanting so desperately to pull that sensitive trigger. I couldn't, though. Even dying wouldn't erase what I had done. The blood had stained my priceless wallpaper. It was there on my desk, too. All over my papers and in the corner too where I kept my briefcases full of product. I shouldn't even have been thinking about my damn cocaine when my son was lying just a few feet away from me on his back, his arms sprawled out aimlessly to his sides. I crawled over to him, still in shock at the amazing gunfight that had just occurred in my home. I reached my dear son and made a hysterical attempt at CPR…I wasn't thinking very clearly. I wanted him to live so badly, but I had shot him right in the chest.

"Mr. Vercetti, are you alright?"

One of my goons had run into my office with a handgun clasped clumsily in his hand. It's almost as if he had picked it up right before he had come to check on me just to seem as if he was willing to help. He had probably been playing cards with the rest of those bums by the pool again. I was in no mood and I was fed up with his bullshit. I lifted myself up, reloaded by gun, and shot the bastard in the chest. All in the blink of an eye. He let out a howling shout and backed up, the life slowly draining out of his body, until he fell backwards over the railing. All I heard was a loud thud as he landed on my red carpet below. More blood to clean up.

I put my son's body in an extra large garbage bag and dragged it down the steps and down through the hallway. I kept dragging the poor boy all the way until I arrived at the exit to the backyard. I rounded up a few of the idiots and told them to take care of it for me. They all looked stunned.

"Are…are you sure, boss? You don't want to…you know, keep it? He's…your son, right?"

I exploded. I pulled out my gun again and I pumped three warm bullets into his chest and neck. I had the glare of a madman in my eyes.

"Anyone else want to say stupid shit?"

The others were shaking with fear. They were right to fear me…they know better than to question anything I say. I instructed the little monkeys to dispose of the body in the ocean or somewhere where the feds wouldn't find it easily. At my command, they all scurried off onto one of the motorboats, ready and willing. Well, at least ready. They better be.

I returned to my office afterwards and proceeded to shoot myself up with some Daliate. It was some new drug that was supposed to help calm your nerves or something that I had gotten cheap at a…well, unofficial pharmacy that had just opened up here in Vice. Some Italian named Tony down by the docks would sell it to anybody who wanted some on weekdays from 2 to 4 pm…his hours were always very strict.

I snorted a couple lines of coke as I felt myself starting to lose it. I mean literally lose it. What had I done? One failed deal and I kill the kid? He was my fucking son, for God's sake! I couldn't face the facts…I mean I can't. I'm writing this now and I just can't forget about it. I've been shooting up more and more of that new stuff and snorting more and more coke…I can't shake it. The phone is ringing now but I really don't give a fuck. What? You'll do what I tell you to do. So I smack it. Again. I pick it up and throw it across the damn room.

I needed to calm down, so I decided to snort another bit of stuff. I shot more Daliate, too. I shouldn't have. I felt myself sliding off the edge, looking down and hanging on by a thread that was just about to break. It's been a couple of minutes, and I'm hearing my son in my head. It's just too much to bear now…it's the worst thing I've ever done and I can't live with myself. Worst part is I can't even remember why I killed him…I loved him. I always told him I'd die for him, so I will. I'll go to see him. I've had a good run…someone will take my place. One of those guys will…I love them all, you know? They're hard workers…they'll figure it out somehow. I'll kiss my gun again as I load it for the last time. Adrenaline started to kick in…I was ready. But you know something? That guy, the one at the docks, Tony, he looks familiar. I'm going to set the gun down just for a second to think about this. I think I know him from Liberty…might've been a goon for the…fuck…what was that noise? Shit…probably nothi


End file.
